Wedding Night
by Assimbya
Summary: Based on the 2003 miniseries Helen of Troy. On Menelaus' wedding night, his older brother makes an unendurable demand.


"You are going to share her with me, aren't you, brother?" Agamemnon's tone was casual, but Menelaus almost dropped his wine glass. His fingers tightening around it, he placed it down on the table, gritting his teeth and not looking Agamemnon in the eye.

"No," he said finally, because he couldn't think of anything more to say. Well, he could, but he held back the curses against his older brother, the recitations of all the injustices against him that had occurred in their lives.

"You were the one who had her parade naked around the banquet hall," Agamemnon picked up Menelaus discarded wine glass and took a sip from it, "you can't exactly do something like that and expect none of the men there to want to do…anything more to her."

Suddenly, something broke within Menelaus and he suddenly found himself shouting uncontrollably. "No! You cannot have her, Agamemnon, she's mine, she's my wife and I'm going to treat her well and make her so devoted to me that she won't even glance at you, she won't want anyone but me because I can be _enough! _I may not be the King of Mycenae, I may not be father's heir, I may not be the clever one or the handsome one, but I can have something that is all my own – I can live in Sparta with my _wife _and you can come and visit on feast days and bring your wife and children, but you'll always envy me because I'll finally, finally have something that you'll _never have._"

There was silence for a moment and then Agamemnon laughed, a low rumbling in his throat. "Oh, my little brother. Are you so sure that you can even satisfy a woman, Menelaus? Have you even been with them before? You never went to those prostitutes that father always suggested to us – do you even have any idea what you're supposed to do?"

"I…of course I do," Menelaus replied, trying to keep his voice steady, but Agamemnon had taken a step towards him and was almost unendurably close, his breath hot against Menelaus' face.

"Do you? Well, I'll tell what _I'd _do, if pretty Helen of Sparta were my wife," Agamemnon again lifted Menelaus wine glass to his lips before continuing, "First, as soon as I'd gotten her in the bedroom, I'd order her to take off her tunic, to see if she would do so just on my word and because, well, a body like that should be admired, not fucked briefly in the darkness."

Menelaus swallowed hard. He couldn't imagine commanding Helen, to her face, to take off her clothing. He'd ordered her to for the banquet, but that was not an order that he had made directly to her, and when she showed up naked in the midst of all those kings, it had almost seemed as though he had had nothing to do with it.

"Then, I'd have her lie down on the bed and, before she had touched me at all, I'd touch her, make sure she enjoyed it. Because, if a woman doesn't enjoy anything going on in the bedroom at all, than it's easy for her to detach herself from it," Agamemnon took another swallow of wine, a faint smile on his face. "When she was writhing with pleasure, I'd stop and order her to suck me off. Just to make it clear that it wasn't _all _about her pleasure, you see. And that could go on for as long as it took for her to get good at, for women often need some practice at these things, and if you start that on the wedding night, then they'll just keep getting better later."

Perhaps Agamemnon was right, Menelaus thought suddenly, maybe he did really have no idea what do in bed with a woman. Because he would never think of all this, he was sure of that. And perhaps, when he went into their bedroom attempting only to be gentle with her, Helen would laugh at him, and tell all the next day of his lack of prowess in such matters. Perhaps she would always resent him for it, and never really look at him straight in the eye, and…

"But I wouldn't let her continue with that until I'd reached completion," Agamemnon was saying, "because I'd stop first and fuck her, hard and rough, winding my hands in that gold hair of hers, both of us desperate for release. And then, only after we'd both come from that, I'd kiss her, deeply and passionately, the kind of kiss that she couldn't even have imagined." He met Menelaus' eyes. "I doubt you would have any idea how to kiss anyone like that."

"I do!" Menelaus protested and then, hardly sure what he was doing, his hands slippery with sweat, he grabbed the wine glass from Agamemnon's hand and gulped down the remainder of the liquid in it before dropping it unceremoniously on the stone floor and pulling Agamemnon towards him, heedless of how much taller his brother was than him, pressing his lips against Agamemnon's violently, passionately, forcing his tongue into his mouth as though he was fighting him.

And Agamemnon kissed him back.

Agamemnon's mouth tasted of wine and war, and Menelaus didn't break the kiss for a long time, not until they were both overwhelmed and breathless. When he did, though, he didn't say a word to Agamemnon, merely turned on his heel and headed towards his bedchamber.

Yes, he could surely satisfy Helen.


End file.
